


Theodore Nott is Totally Fine

by MaraudingManaged



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, M/M, Soul Magic, Theo is a useless gay, harry is a useless gay, so many useless gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged
Summary: Theodore Nott is totally fine.Except that he isn’t, not even a little bit. Theo has some very specific problems, in fact, and they all seem to revolve around the man he is staring at across the grotty Ministry cafeteria.
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85
Collections: Love Fest 2021, Rare Pairs RHM Read for LoveFest





	Theodore Nott is Totally Fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArielSakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielSakura/gifts).



> Ariel, my lovely, I hope you enjoy this. 
> 
> Written for The Fairest of the Rare's #LoveFest2021, feeling that #TeamCass hype!!! 
> 
> Not beta'd, all mistakes entirely my own.

Theodore Nott is totally fine. 

Except that he isn’t, not even a little bit. Theo has some very specific problems, in fact, and they all seem to revolve around the man he is staring at across the grotty Ministry cafeteria. 

The first problem isn’t really a problem at all, he muses as he shovels rubbery pasta into his mouth. Or it wouldn’t be in most situations, and that is that Theo is very,  _ very  _ gay. 

Oh no. The  _ problem _ is that he’s got an unrelenting hard-on for Harry-Fucking-Potter. And it isn’t only physical - he really, really fancies the bloke. His heart does some weird shit in his chest whenever he sees him, if they bump into each other in the corridors, or when Hermione invites him out for a drink after work and Harry inexplicably turns up. Harry, who throws an arm around everyone’s shoulder; Harry who is uncomfortably touchy-feely in a way that Theo both loathes and desperately craves; Harry who worries about everyone and everything. 

And, as far as he can work out, Harry is  _ not  _ gay - which is a problem, because Theo would very much like to bend him over a table and fuck him to kingdom come. 

Theo sighs and swallows the lukewarm tomato sauce, grimacing as the plasticky cheese glues to his teeth. He contemplates the other offerings on his tray - a bottle of water, an apple, and some sort of chocolate shortbread that looks like it’s seen better days. 

He idly wonders if the Minister for Magic eats what the rest of the peasants do in this Merlin-forsaken hellhole of bureaucratic red tape. Harry is eating the same shit as the rest of them, though, so maybe Shacklebolt does too. Or maybe he brings his own - Theo has told himself daily for the last three months to pack his own lunch, but then he would have no reason to come down here, and that would be a lost opportunity to pine pathetically over the man who has started to occupy so many of his thoughts.

“It doesn’t get any better, I’m afraid,” a light voice comments as their tray slaps down before him, and Theo jumps about a foot in the air. “And you’re staring at Harry…  _ again _ . I thought you were a Slytherin?” 

Ah yes, his  _ second  _ problem. 

“You’re rubbing off on me, clearly,” Theo groans, and drags his hands over his face as the woman drops herself onto the chair opposite him. 

“Oh, how absolutely terrible for you,” she rolls her eyes and Theo can’t help the small smile that forms when he hears her biting tone. 

Hermione Granger isn’t a problem in and of herself. She’s actually become one of his best friends in this den of iniquity; and one of the best out of it, too. 

Except for...

“Harry! Come sit with me!” She calls out and waves at the man across the room, and Harry’s bright, emerald eyes dart over to her and then Theo before a wide grin forms on his face. He weaves through the bustle of people to get to them, and Theo feels his stomach get heavier and heavier. 

“‘Mione,” he groans under his breath. 

“Theo,” she sings back sweetly, “Exposure therapy time!” And with that she stands to hug Harry, the pair chuckling as he tries to put down his tray and hug her back at the same time.

The problem with Hermione is that she keeps trying to put Theo in as close proximity as possible to Harry whenever she can. She isn't even  _ subtle  _ about it - not that he should expect it from someone who literally has a red and gold headband on to ward away some of the frizz around the edges of her hair. She’s bold-as-brass told Theo to give something a go - because the worst Harry can do is say no - or buck up and learn to live with Harry in his life as a friend and find someone else to pine over. As with everything to do with the other man, Theo loathes it and adores it in equal measure, and he can never seem to say no to her or tell her to back off; and he knows Hermione would in a heartbeat if it were truly hurting him. 

“Potter,” Theo says cordially, offering the man his hand that he hopes isn’t slick with sweat, and Harry takes it with a soft smile and even softer eyes that turn up at the corner when Theo meets them. His hand is warm, solid, calloused and work-hardened, and Theo desperately wants to linger - to feel those hands run across his arms, his chest, his throat, his… 

“Nott! Nice to see you out of the Archives.” 

“Who knew sunlight could feel quite so good?” He jokes and after one second, two seconds, three, four, five, Harry let’s go of his hand to sit. The way he’d hesitated, just for a moment, sends the butterflies in his stomach storming; his palm still tingles with the heat of it and the intensity of Harry’s eye contact. 

“So, how’s the mystery project going? Any luck?” 

Theo has Hermione’s old job in the Archives now that she’s been made a full-time Unspeakable. He’s wanted to be involved in the Department of Mysteries for years, but it’s not a quick process and openings come up once in a blue moon - if you know what you’re looking for in the classified section of the Prophet, anyway. It’s always some innocuous job in the Archives, and you have to really  _ want _ to be involved in the DoM to pick apart the code embedded in the advertisement to even get an interview, let alone get anywhere near the building. 

And now Theo spends his working days in the depths of the Ministry Archives - officially a steward, but unofficially looking for a branch of magic he’s interested in further researching as a full-blown member of the Department. He has to present a dissertation and Viva in three months time, and he only has half an idea of what he wants to do it on.    
  
Theo grimaces. “Half of one. But it’s on a tricky subject, not much academic research on it and only a few first-hand experiences to go off.” 

“Oh! Are you still looking at soul magic?” Hermione pipes up, her eyes widening. “Fascinating subject, bit of a tricky beast to tame though. Have you thought about asking for a pass into the Death Room to do some of your own studies?” 

Theo shakes his head, but watches as Harry’s hand stills for a moment, no longer bringing the sad-looking sandwich to his mouth. “Nah, it’s not so much the death of the soul I’m interested in.” 

He knows they’re given clearance to speak in front of Harry - and anyone who was in the Department of Mysteries back in 5th Year - about the general operations of the department. It’d be pointless, really, considering they’d been in every single room aside from private offices; but it still feels strange being able to talk about his work more openly than he has to around his own friends from Hogwarts. 

“What… what aspect of soul magic are you interested in, then?” Harry asks quietly, his eyes rising to meet Theo’s. He looks interested, but decidedly wary, and Theo wonders why before shrugging it off in favour of answering. 

“Well… damage to the soul, I suppose. If that can affect magic, and if it can be repaired. If there are other ways to damage a soul other than making a Horcrux, and what impact it has.” 

Hermione and Harry both look at each other warily, and back to Theo a moment later. His gaze darts between them and he feels like he’s missing something vitally important, and he  _ hates _ not having all of the cards spread out before him. “What?” He asks, his words drawn out slowly. 

“Your call, Harry,” Hermione says, and then stands up with her tray before balancing it to give his shoulder a squeeze. “I have something I need to do… I’ll leave you to it.” 

She goes without another word, leaving Theo with Harry at the table. “Potter? You look a bit… grey.” 

“I think… I think I might be the case study you need,” Harry says lowly, his eyes fixed on Theo. “But I can’t talk about it here. It needs to be private.” 

“Know what?” What was wrong with Harry? What could have happened to leave him thinking his soul was damaged? Theo leans forward closer to the man across from him, who unconsciously does the same. His academic and personal intrigue has now been truly piqued, but he is also  _ worried _ , because Harry looks truly washed out, and a sudden darkness has filled his eyes that wasn’t there before. 

Harry shakes his head, his black hair falling forward so that he has to brush it back before gesturing around the room. “Not _ here _ , there’s stuff… stuff from the war. It’s complicated, but I can’t talk about it with other people around. Only a handful of people know, and most of them are because they were directly involved or are… well, they’re dead now.” 

Theo sits back, chewing on his lip. There’s an internal war raging; he knows he can’t let this opportunity slide, but he also knows that he can’t trust himself to be objective when Harry is involved. Being in public is safe. Being in public gives him a reprieve because it’s significantly more difficult for him to embarrass himself when there are others around to engage with too. 

But in private? Private means that Theo has no option but to be fully drowned in his presence, and he doesn’t know if he can do it. 

“Okay. Right, well you could come to mine, if you like? I’ve got a flat in Kensington. Well, I say I… it’s basically the only property left in my father’s portfolio that isn’t cursed to high hell.” He can feel his mouth running away from him, but he can’t stop it from forming words even though his brain is screaming at him to shut the fuck up. “We can grab a takeaway and talk?” 

Harry whistles, his dark expression lightening as his eyes crease at the corner, just a little, and Theo’s stomach flips. “Kensington? Got a few silver spoons going free that aren’t lodged in your mouth?” 

Theo flips him the Vs, but it’s not aggressive. “Shut up, Potter. I know where you live now. The Black Townhouse, isn’t it? Central, in Islington?” 

Potter laughs, loud enough to startle the table behind him. “Yeah, but its a shithole. It needs so much work doing that I don’t have the time or the energy for, honestly. It’s had a coat of paint and the enchantments cleared, and that’s about it.” 

Theo nods, lounging back in the flimsy wooden chair. “I imagine the old Black charm still likes to hang around.” 

“You’ve no idea. Right, I get off shift at 6pm, I’ll swing by the Archives and meet you there? We can go up to the fireplaces together.” 

“Sounds good. Speaking of the Archives…” Theo glances at his watch and curses- 1pm on the nose. “I’m already late getting back off my lunch. I’ll see you at 6, Potter.” 

“Harry,” Harry clarifies as he stands, and Theo does the same. “You’re going to find out some stuff about me that only my best mates know. You may as well call me Harry.” 

“Harry, then.” Theo repeats mechanically, the letters rolling on his tongue the way they do in his own mind. “You’ll have to call me Theo, of course.” 

“Oh,  _ of course _ ,” he taunts, but offers a quirk of his lips. “See you tonight, Theo,” he lifts his tray, turning to leave, but Theo thinks he sees a flash of red creeping up his neck underneath the heavy Auror robes he wears. He imagines it rather matches the own burning heat he can feel in his chest when Harry says his name. 

* * *

The afternoon is hell. 

Theo picks up books on soul magic, and puts them down again just so he has something to do with his hands. He runs errands for Department members just to keep busy. He is a tea boy and librarian and researcher all rolled into one; but he can’t shake the feeling that something is going to happen that he won’t be able to fix. 

He’s putting away two books from Hermione when Harry saunters in, robes slung over his arm, his hair tied back in a loose bun, and Theo feels his heart stop and then start again several times before he actually opens his mouth to speak. 

“Took you long enough,” Theo grouses, waving his wand to flick out the lamps. 

“Anyone would think I was inconveniencing you,” Harry jokes, leaning against the door. His shirt is rolled up to the elbow, and Theo raises a prayer in thanks to whatever gods are listening that they have chosen to bestow him a glimpse of the pale skin and taut muscle. 

Banter. He can do banter. 

“I’m starving, arsehole. The food here is truly appalling,” he points out as he collects his bag and pulls on his blazer, and Harry shrugs. 

“Better than nothing. Anyway, you promised a takeaway - least you’ll enjoy it now.”

Theo  _ wishes.  _ He feels sick and flustered, and he doubts he can keep anything down, but nods anyway. 

“Too right. C’mon, let’s get going. They’ll be queueing for the Floo for miles at this rate.”

They walk together to the Floo, Harry chattering about his day and the latest miscreant yobs he’s had to drag home to mortified parents since Hogwarts kicked out for the summer Holidays. Theo makes all the right noises but doesn’t interrupt, simply listening to the sound of the man’s voice as he talks about something,  _ anything. _

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” 

“What is?” 

“That this is the worst thing I’ve had to do today, take a pissed up sixth year home. I don’t know about you, but that was  _ not _ my experience of our summer before seventh year.” 

Theo grimaces. “No, definitely not. I spent most of it.. well, hiding, really. From everything. Being a coward.” 

Harry stops dead, and puts a hand on Theo’s arm. “Not a coward. Smart. Loads smarter than we were, really.” 

Theo feels the blush burn hot. “Maybe. I don’t suppose I ever thought of it that way.” 

“Well, maybe you should. C’mon, let’s go. You’re right, I’m starving as well.” 

The Floo isn’t as busy as he thought for and Theo curses in his head. He’d hoped for a little longer in public, but it can’t be helped now. He’s made his bed, and he has to bloody get in it. 

“The Penthouse, Greybrook House,” he says clearly, a handful of glittering powder already scattering into the flames, and steps into the Floo. He trusts Harry to follow him, and so he does only moments later, walking out into the lobby. 

“This.. this is  _ brilliant _ ,” Harry breathes in from behind him, and Theo turns just in time to see a grin capturing his face. “It’s got so much space!” 

“It didn’t used to. I knocked a lot of it through, brightened it up. You can get out onto the roof terrace that way too, if you like. It’s a warm enough evening we can sit out there. Down the small stairs,” he points down the hall, “are the bedrooms. The main living space is on this landing, and the kitchen’s at the other end.” 

Harry doesn’t seem to care about the terrace, or the bedrooms for that matter, and instead walks around the living-come-dining room he has set up. “You’ve got a TV! And a phone - and fucking hell, is that a dishwasher?” Harry wanders down the hall and sticks his head into the open-plan kitchen, sticking his head back around the doorframe. “Bit Muggle, isn’t it?” 

“All the mod-cons,” Theo admits, and he is so fucking proud of himself in that moment. He’s integrated so much Muggle technology into this home, he barely needs to use magic - and a part of him prefers it that way. It’s his way of breaking the cycle he experiences as a kid that helped lead to the war; and the look on Harry’s face, how at ease and at home he seems to be there, makes every challenge he’s faced to do it worth it. “Drives Malfoy and Parkinson mad, of course, but it’s home to me.” 

Harry chuckles. “I’ll bet. Right, we ordering that food or what?” He throws his robes over one of the armchairs, and flings himself onto the sofa. “Oh, I brought beer!” He pulls out a shrunken box from his pocket, and with a brief look at Theo to make sure it’s okay to do so, enlarges it. 

Theo helps himself to one, because he needs it right now to try and take the edge off the nerves that are ravaging him, and then sits at the opposite end, pulling his feet onto the cushion. “I’m thinking Chinese?” He offers, and Harry nods in agreement. 

It is easy. Its so, so easy to talk back and forth, argue over menus, decide on what to share and what to have for themselves. Theo thinks he could live like this forever, and takes every opportunity to show off. He collects the beers Harry brought from the fridge, offers music, chats and tries to flirt, then hates himself and tries  _ not  _ to flirt. 

But he’s making Harry laugh, and the other man seems so at ease in his home that he basks in it, just for a moment. Pretends this whole thing is something it isn’t. 

Because what he’s really here for is to talk about his soul. 

“So, where are we starting?” Theo asks when there’s a lull in the conversation, and Harry pulls a face. He’s lounging on his settee, ankles crossed, with his second bottle of beer in his hand. “It’s complicated, like I say, but it starts when I was a baby. You know how Voldemort didn’t die?” 

“I think everyone’s well aware of that,” Theo rolls his eyes, and Harry shrugged. 

“You’d be surprised what people decided to make up or create in their own heads. Anyway, you know you were talking about Horcruxes?” Harry spreads his arm wide. “How would you like to prod and poke someone who housed one in a scar?” 

Theo chokes on his beer just as he takes a sip, and sits upright to clear his throat and lungs before lunging for a quill and some parchment - grabbing a “I’m going to need to to repeat that again.” 

Harry loses his joking tone quite quickly after that. He ends up sitting forward, gesticulating wildly as he explains how he came to get the scar that decorates his forehead, the Horcruxes, that he had actually died - albeit briefly - at the final battle. Theo wants to get him into a room where he can cast every type of enchantment and monitoring spell he knows, but he doesn’t think Harry would appreciate it. 

“So… what did the old man think would happen to  _ your _ soul?” Theo asks after a moment. “Once he was gone, I mean.” He taps his forehead, and Harry’s brows crease. 

“He didn’t really say. I know that after the battle at Hogwarts, I struggled for a long time with my magic. It was like I was a kid again.” 

“Accidental magic?” 

“Yeah. My accidental magic was usually to keep myself safe, y’know? So it went into overdrive after the war.” 

Theo sits back and surveys Harry. He’s contemplative, but doesn’t seem bothered by what he’s said. Theo wonders why he had to protect himself, and then Harry catches his eye who seems to recognise his question before he even voices it. “It was hard growing up. My aunt and uncle are Muggles; they thought magic was unnatural, freakish, and my cousin used to be a bully. He’s not so bad now after he had a run-in with a Dementor.” 

Theo blanches, and he feels the shudder up his spine that comes unbidden. He can hear what’s underneath Harry’s words - that it wasn’t a happy childhood. That there was something he’d needed to keep himself safe  _ from _ . “I’m sorry you had to experience that.” 

He means it. He hates that Harry had to live that way, and Harry offers a soft smile. “S’okay. I made it, in the end.” 

“To making it,” Theo raises his beer, Harry reaching over to touch his own bottle against it with a quiet chink. They sit together in the stillness for a while, and it feels so very natural. There isn’t the awkwardness he was so scared of; instead, a sort of comfort. 

“I’m sorry you had to experience it, too,” Harry says after a while, and Theo nods. 

“It’s okay.” 

For the first time in a very long time, Theo truly feels it.

  
  


* * *

“Merlin, I’d sell my left bollock to have a place like this,” Harry breathes in as he leaves the bathroom to head out towards the rooftop terrace, after being convinced to come and see the city at night, and Theo chokes. 

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” 

Harry stops and turns around, a brow raised, bathed in the glow of the city lights and warmth from the beer. “Say again?”

Fuck. 

“Well, that is to say, I assume the witches would be most displeased to find the lord and saviour of the wizarding missing part of your vital… appendages,” Theo stutters out hastily, cursing himself and his stupid fucking mouth over and over. He’s too hot now and he is biting his tongue so hard he’s scared he’s going to break the skin. 

This is why he  _ never _ wanted to be left in private with Harry. 

Harry laughs, snorting so inelegantly it makes Theo grin too. “I really don’t think the witches will be worried about it, Nott. I mean, let's be fair, they’re not exactly likely to see it.” He gives Theo a wink - throwaway, but he has no idea of the loop he has just sent Theo into. 

He blinks repeatedly. “Oh.”

Witches. 

Not likely to  _ see it _ . 

He is about two steps away from dropping off his perch on the sofa arm and getting on his knees, begging for it to be true; but instead he just stares at Harry like the gormless, lovesick fool he is. 

Harry’s eyes go wide as he takes in Theo’s face, registers his soft exhalation, and closes his eyes so that his dark lashes kiss his cheeks. “ _ Please _ tell me you know I like blokes.”

“I absolutely did not,” Theo replies tensely, his voice tight as he releases his tongue to speak.

“I’m going to kill her,” Harry mutters, running a hand over his face. “Please tell me you don’t have a…” 

“No problem,” Theo rasps out, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat. “I am so,  _ so  _ gay. And I am also going to kill her.” 

Theo meets his eye, and Harry looks right back. It’s a split second and an eternity, all balled into one moment of eye contact. Everything suddenly slots into place - every touch, every word, every fucking  _ obvious  _ signals they’ve both sent each other without even realising. 

Theo doesn’t even know who moves first, but in a heartbeat he has collided with Harry and pressed against the glass, his mouth only inches away from Harry’s. The man’s body is strong beneath his, his heartbeat a rapid tattoo that matches Theo’s own, and he takes in a long breath. “Tell me I’ve not read this situation wrong,” Theo begs. He isn’t above it, not now. He would move heaven and earth for this moment to be true. 

Harry says nothing, instead choosing that exact moment to kiss him. His mouth is hot and tastes faintly malty, hoppy, and sweet - and Theo drinks every moment of it in. Harry’s hands are grasping at his waist, finding purchase in the belt, and pulls Theo tighter against him. 

“Such a fucking idiot,” Theo gasps as he moves his mouth along the ridge of Harry’s jaw, and he moans as his head collides with the glass of the window. Theo winces and pulls away to check the man who now looks decidedly well-snogged, only to see that he is grinning like the aforementioned fucking idiot Theo knows himself to be. 

“I must be a  _ really  _ shit flirt.”

Theo laughs, full and properly, and rests his forehead against Harry’s. His smile is threatening to crack his face in two, and Harry runs the back of his hand across his cheek. 

“You should smile more.” 

“Never really had a reason to,” Theo offers, and Harry shakes his head ruefully. 

“Well, maybe you do now, yeah?” 

Theo doesn’t answer, instead dipping his head to kiss Harry again, until they are both breathless from it. 

Maybe he does. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
